The Last Night Of Autumn

Autumn was close to its end.

The air would change from cold to icily sharp, and the leaves on the ground would be replaced by white, crispy snow. The animals of the season were departing to their shelters for the weeks to come, and darkness was taking over the sky.

Once she would have retreated once the Autumn was over, back to the house of burnt colours hidden away by the bramble to burrow under furs and dine at the harvest. To trek down the staircases formed by branches and bark and walk among the badgers and the squirrels like she was one of them.

She made it all pass by in peace. She with the hair the colour of the redwood and the warm weathered skin, collecting the fruit of the season in her woven basket and tending to the exhausted beings awaiting the peace of the colder season, she who watches over the winter stores while they take their rest. Singing to them in a soulful voice, recollecting the ancient folk music before her time.

But that was before her body had been buried in the soil, her neck making a cracking sound like an acorn once stepped on. That was before the Earth took her muscle, Sinew and all. She became the grass beneath the stars, beneath the sun and moon, looking down on their many people. Unable or unwilling to hear her screams about their favourite son and his desire to cut her season tragically short.

Summer saw her that day, making his way into the forest to pay his tithe to the next season. Summer was everything all at once. Large and quick, tall and muscled. Filled with heat, yet could turn stormy in the day just as easily as the night. His blue eyes shone over Autumn, begging her to give up her season to him, let the Summer take her, she refused. A battle that Autumn could not win.

Because she could not challenge the sparkling sea and the warm beating sun as much as her breeze blew in, changing the colours of the flowerfields to auburn grass and marigold bushels sprouting, the colours deepened from aquamarine to emerald, and the world became alive with activity. The excited shouts as her embassy was barred from making its way inside, thrilled to keep the sun to warm the sands and grass on which they ran barefoot, so much so that they would overlook the seasonal paradox.

When Summer could not have Autumn, they left her at Winter’s feet. Cold and bitter over being oft forgotten in favour of the sunnier courts and their harsh beauty ignored, Winter took Autumn away, Frostbitten by snow and eaten away within the soil, the worms stripped away her skin, and the seasons prepared to shorten the time between the cold and the warm. Summer couldn’t accept the end, so it buried Autumn in the snow, not to be found for a season more.

Nature continues the cycle, no matter how briefly it has been cut short. She no longer recognises it, now. Her fingers were black, her skin a pale grey; she now had to bathe in the flat freezing swamp waters rather than the golden bathtubs filled with bubbles or the clear tepid jade ponds, her sense of smell no longer welcomed the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, her stomach no longer growled at the sight of mugs of cider. To what remains of her eyes and ears, simply everything is cold and wet and still too bright. Better to face the darkness where the fables of the macabre lie.

The days go by, the only ones who notice, the only ones watching are the days belonging to the Autumn, chief of those, the youngest child of the tenth month, who scours the fox and deer haunts for the lady of the harvest hall, until they found the remains and cursed the Sun, the Moon, the Summer and everything under the Sky, vowing to live under starless nights evermore. Unlike the rest, they keep their word.

When she awoke, her core was no more; she no longer smelled the savoury smells, the fresh ground, she could barely see through the darkness. Filtered through with the ghastly green of the ghoulish, fear filled her before she saw those she protected once more, for even a celebration of all things horrible wants a taste of all things wonderful.

Now she stands with her dress faded away, the fauna of her realm stand far apart, loyal but no longer affectionate. Acorn and wheat were replaced with smirking skulls and glowing mushrooms on every surface, every face is different, unsettling but not unkind. And where her heart was once beating with warmth for the cooling air, she felt nothing but a sense of wrathful glee as she settled in to wait for the final part of the season to begin.

At first, the Summer passes by comfortably, dismissing the black stone in favour of whitewashed walls. making the ocean sparkle around the undressed swimmers and presenting sweet iced cream and fruit juices of every kind for them to sample, Summer stays for a long time, a lot longer than expected.

Then Summer vanishes before Winter's entrance will be a long time before Summer rises. Winter will wait, and Spring will hang off the edge, the Elements will howl, the Sky will darken and the Earth will tantrum and the Solstice will be the longest it has ever been as the Sun and the Moon worry because Summer, the favourite son, will be getting his comeuppance.

Because the dead come back to life for one last night, unripe fruit and rotten gourds are replaced by sweet caramels and gummy miniatures of flora and fauna alike, trading eerie fashion for every kind of cacao. Spirits visiting living loves and haunting surviving enemies, before the midnight hour in which no light can survive,

Before Autumn comes to an end, Halloween will have its night.